The Back Porch
by lulusgardenfli
Summary: It's May, 1959 all 14 year old Darry wants is to shoot the breeze with his dad and maybe share a beer when his mom isn't looking. -One Shot


**A/N: A prequel to "The Oil Rig" This chapter also has some tie-ins to Chapter 9 of my Mr. Curtis story, "Both Horse and Driver" in terms of theme. There is also minor "spoiler" (ooh, how exciting! ;) ) thrown in.**

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 **May, 1959**

We're sitting on our back porch, just drowning a couple of beers (him) and Pepsi (me). Pony and Soda are over at Billy White's house. Mom is in the kitchen working on the monthly budget. Mom always handles the bills and financial stuff around our house.

When Prohibition officially ended in Oklahoma a month ago, Dad gave me a wide grin, "about damn time."

Of course being an official dry state never stopped my Dad or any other Tulsan from enjoying a drink. But now that it was legal, people could do so out in the open.

In my head, I pictured Dad and me drowning a few suds, sitting back and talking man to man.

Dad seemed to have a different view of my manliness, because he came home from this trip to the liquor store with a case of beer for him, and a bunch of pops and candy for my brothers and me.

Sitting on the porch with him, I eyed his beer longingly. He laughed, "soon as your mother is out of eyesight, I'll spot you some."

Knowing that Mom was never out of eyesight, that even when she wasn't around she seemed to know exactly what was going on, I sighed, so much for enjoying my first beer with my old man. Paul Holden's dad already let him sip whiskey and champagne.

Dad just laughed again and patted me on the knee, "don't be in such a hurry to grow up, Darry. Besides, it ain't worth it. The beer I mean. I shouldn't even be drinking this. Your grandpa was an alcoholic."

I never heard that about Grandpa Curtis. I never met Grandpa Curtis, he died not long before I was born.

"I bet Grandma threw a fit." Grandma Curtis is a very religious lady, I mean, a lot of people around here are religious, but Grandma Curtis takes it to a whole other level. She has a million rules about what we can and can't do, and I'm pretty sure drinking beer is number one on her 'do not do' list.

My dad swirled his bottle and looked down at his boots, "your Grandma threw plenty of fits, but not about his drinking." His voice is bitter and has a hard edge to it. He turns away from me and spits.

"Oh." I don't know what to say, I never heard dad talk about Grandma Curtis this way, and it makes me uncomfortable. I mean, how bad was she? Besides, she's still his mother.

But just like magic he turns back to me and his eyes are once again fun and mischievous and his grin overtakes his face.

"So, you thinking about taking any girls to the dance?" He winks, because he knows what the answer is. I've been seeing this girl named Linda. Her dad owns a car dealership and she's real pretty.

"Yeah, I'm thinkin' about asking her. I want to play it cool, don't want to seem too desperate." I don't tell my dad that I'm planning on asking Linda to go steady with me after the dance. We're only fourteen, and maybe a bit too young to go steady, but I like her.

Sometimes, I think Dad can read my mind, because he tells me, "don't go too fast Darry. Believe me, there are plenty of fish in the sea, don't tie yourself up so early."

"Didn't you and mom start to date when you were both fifteen?"

"We were sixteen when we became official, besides things were different back then. I _needed_ your mother, this Linda is a lovely girl, but you don't need to depend on her. She don't need to depend on you either."

But I wanted Linda to need me, if felt good to have someone depend on me.

"Being needed ain't all it's cracked up to be. I mean, your mom was only sixteen when I left my parents' home and went out on my own. She and her family helped me deal with everything. No sixteen year old should have to shoulder the load I gave to your mom."

I don't say anything, but wasn't he just sixteen too? Wasn't he shouldering just as big of a burden?

But, I understand what he means.

I don't like to share my problems with other people, including my parents. I'd rather just work things out on my own. Besides, we always seem to have enough problems around here anyways, no use in adding to the pile with my piddly crap.

"It's a real honor though," he continues, "to have someone share their deepest secrets and fears with you, it means they trust you. You know how rare that is now a days?"

I have a feeling he ain't talking about him and my mom.

"You mean secrets like Uncle Pat being a homosexual?"

The moment I mention Uncle Pat my dad gives a sad smile and his eyes twinkle the same way the shine when he talks about my mom or us boys; but when I mention the word homosexual, he cringes.

"Yeah, like Uncle Pat." He shakes his beer bottle again, and turns away from me, but instead of spitting, he just looks sad and distant.

I'm the only one who knows about Uncle Pat. Pony and Soda just think that Uncle Pat's roommate is just that, a roommate. The funny thing is, so too does my Grandma, and she _lives_ with them. My mom doesn't think it's a big deal and we should just tell Soda and Pony, but my dad is adamant that we don't. He says he doesn't want Pony and Soda to think any less of Uncle Pat.

I don't think any less of Uncle Pat. I mean, I think it's weird what he does and I don't go bragging about it, but I still like Uncle Pat. So, Uncle Pat likes guys, as long as he ain't bothering no one, I don't see what the big deal is either.

We go back to talking, he chats about the rodeo he and Soda are going to, I talk about football and gymnastics.

I'm not prepared for what comes next.

"Darry, things are real bad. I'm a gambler and I made some real bad mistakes. Things aren't good between your mother and me."

As strange as it sounds, I'm grateful he just decides to rip the Band-Aid off all at once. When people have bad news, I'd rather them just come out straight and tell me, don't beat around the bush, let me decide if this news is "unfortunate" or "sad."

"Oh."

"I mean, it's real bad Darry."

I don't know what to say, but I'm angry at myself. How did I not know this was happening? How did I not see this coming? I thought about all the times my dad would come home late or take random weekends to himself. Sometimes, he would come home happy and overjoyed, most of the time he just came home morose. It didn't fit my usual jovial father, but I was too blind to even notice it at the time.

At night I could hear my parents talk in low voices, I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I could tell they were arguing. Foolishly, I thought they were fighting about Soda. Soda's teacher wanted him to repeat the grade, Mom thought it was a good idea, but Dad didn't think he needed to. I feel guilty about all of the times I told Soda he needed to 'cool it' and start paying more attention in class.

"Your Uncle Rollo had to loan us a lot of money. I mean _a lot._ We would be out on the streets without his help. I owe him big time. I don't even know how I'm going to repay him."

I feel my stomach start to churn. I instantly think of the case of beer, the pop and the candy Dad just bought. How the hell did he afford it? Why was he wasting his money on Charleston Chews when he was in debt? I'm getting angry with him. It is so irresponsible. How could he do this? I mean, _our house?_ What the hell is wrong with him? What about Mom? Why didn't she do anything to stop him? I know I'm being unfair to her, but I'm so mad right now. How could this happen? I feel my eyes narrow and my heartbeat race. I know this feeling inside of me. It's anger of the worst kind. If it was anyone else, I'd punch him out right then and there. But, I can't, he's my dad.

Instead, I just turn away from him and spit onto the grass. It doesn't help.

Dad doesn't seem to notice how angry I am, because he keeps on talking. "I took a temporary job in Texas. You remember the Smiths? Well, Mr. Smith was able to get me a job working the oil fields."

Fear is the plug that stops my flood of anger. My dad clasps his chest. His chest and torso start to heave back and forth, his breathing is shallow and short, like he's underwater and trying to come up for air. His eyes are large and fearful. "It's real bad Darry. If I don't get myself straightened out, your mom is gonna leave me and take you boys with her."

Oh God. I don't know what to do. "Hey, Dad, are you okay? I mean, you think you're having a heart attack?" Not that I would know what to do if he _was_ having a heart attack.

He takes a few more short, shallow breaths which do absolutely nothing to relieve my fear.

"Yeah, son, I'm okay." He can barely get the words out. I move the beer away from him. He probably shouldn't be drinking right now.

I feel guilty about wanting to punch him just a moment ago, because if something happened to him, I wouldn't know what I would do.

"I ain't going nowhere, Dad." I meant it. I'm not leaving my dad. I could learn how to cook, besides I don't mind living off of pork and beans.

But Dad just shook his head. "No one is going anywhere. I'm going to save my family, or..." He doesn't continue. I don't want him to continue.

Thirty minutes ago I had a normal family, now my dad almost gambled away our house and my mom wanted to leave him.

He gives me a sad smile, "I don't deserve her, you know, I don't deserve you boys either. Ever since I married your mom I promised myself that I wasn't going to be like my parents. But, now look at me. I'm the head of this family, but I can't even provide for us. No matter how much my Daddy drank, he was at least able to provide for his family. Part of me wishes your mom would leave, because she deserves so much better."

I'm not good at comforting people and I feel real awkward doing so, but I put my hand on my dad's shoulder.

"That's why I'm going to Texas. The little town I'm in, there ain't nothing there. No bars, no honky-tonks, no places to gamble. Grandma would be in heaven there." I can see the slightest curl of a smirk.

"It's my last chance," he continues, "this is it, if I don't straighten up, I lose it all. Sayonara."

My dad breaks down and cries. I've never seen my dad cry before, and I'm scared. He is not a quiet crier. Like everything he does, he puts his whole body into crying. I don't know what to do. I wish my mom would come out and rescue me. I'm a bit uncomfortable too. I mean, if my mom cries or my little brothers cry, that's one thing, but it's weird seeing my dad break down.

But, he's my dad, and I love him. I pull his body close to mine, and I wrap my arms around him. It's a bit awkward, because he so much bigger than I am, but he folds into me like a little kid.

"It's okay, it's okay," those words feel so inadequate, but it's the only thing I have to give him.

After a few minutes, he stops crying. He tries to smile, but it's a weak effort. "Please don't tell your brothers about this."

I nod. I eye the beer bottle on the edge of the porch, so much for me wanting to grow up. All growing up meant was carrying secrets and burdens for other people.

"Come on Dad, let's go toss the football."

I know it doesn't solve anything, it doesn't make anything better, but maybe tossing the football for an hour will make him feel better for that hour. That counts for something, right?

I help him stand up and steady him, I put my arm around his shoulders and he puts his arm around my shoulder. He pats my back. "I love you, son."

"Yeah, I love you too."

My arm is still around him as we walk towards the house. "Hey, Dar, you wanna finish up my beer for me?"

I look down at his beer and up at him. A half an hour ago, I wanted nothing more than to drink my first beer. Now being a man doesn't seem like all it's cracked up to be.

"No, thanks, I think I'd rather just finish my Pepsi, after all, you did pay for it."

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 **A/N: S.E. Hinton owns. Prohibition did not officially end in Oklahoma until April 1959.**


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